14. Goodnight, Little Witch #2
The sun had nearly set when Fern shivered from the wind, which had picked up quite a bit since they had arrived. Sparrow wanted to offer her the velvet cloak, but the younger witch had come prepared—she slipped on her orange cardigan and did a little twirl to show off the complete look.
“Well? What do you think?” asked Fern, just a hint of nervousness in her tone.
Sparrow took in the pretty little witch, scanning from head to toe and back again. “Absolutely stunning.”
Instantly, that rosy blush raced up Fern’s cheeks and she covered her face with both hands.
Then, as if remembering the fresh face paint, she slowly pulled her hands away.
The way she bit her bottom lip as she looked at the ground, the picture of shyness and too adorable for words, Sparrow nearly came undone.
With that, the two ventured off to the photobooth.
They took a dozen silly photos with various props and got two little print outs each of their pictures.
Her heart felt full, watching Fern flit around the Pumpkin Festival with all the enthusiasm of a child, tugging on her arm as she pointed out the next fun thing she wanted to do.
By the end of the evening, the two had consumed entirely too many fall treats.
Hot apple cider with plenty of nutmeg, hot mulled wine with a full cinnamon stick, espresso glazed pumpkin cinnamon rolls from the Frisky Whisk.
Sparrow couldn’t remember the last time she had had this much fun.
The last time she had laughed so freely.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t eat another bite,” she laughed when Fern pointed toward the pie tasting booth.
“Please?” begged the younger witch with a playful pout. “They have all my favorites!”
Sparrow allowed herself to be pulled, arm-in-arm, toward the display. A chalkboard easel announced that they had a flight of five mini pies to sample this year: pumpkin pie, pecan pie, apple crumble, and turtle pie. That last one never failed to tempt her into bad decisions. She groaned in despair.
The perfect combination of crumbly shortbread crust, creamy chocolate mousse, roasted pecans, ribbons of salted caramel, and a chilled cool-whip topping with chocolate shavings.
Between the pleading eyes of the pretty purple-haired witch hanging on her arm and the delicious, decadent treat she looked forward to every year, Sparrow simply had no chance to withstand the temptation.
Sensing her victory at hand, Fern brightened. “We’ll just split one pie flight! Come on.”
“Oh, all right, little witch,” she conceded, a smile tugging at her lips.
By midnight, the two had managed to accomplish nearly half of all the attractions, treats, and games the Pumpkin Festival boasted.
Feeling entirely too full of all the mini pies she had shared with Fern, Sparrow found herself walking slower, soaking in the twinkling lights around them as they wandered.
Lights sparkled around the gazebo, from underneath the layers of orange leaf garlands that wrapped around every slat.
More little lights twinkled in the trees overhead, given a warm glow from the orange leaves that surrounded them.
Behind the trees, fully visible now at the witching hour, sat the full moon.
It glowed with a certain regal quality that made Sparrow pause.
Beside her, the younger witch halted, following her gaze to see what had caught her attention.
“The moon is gorgeous,” Fern whispered, her voice tipped with awe.
Sparrow turned to look at her, taking in the soft yellow dress and the bright face paint, the pumpkin earrings and cozy cardigan, and smiled. “You are my own personal moon, little witch. Bright and glowing and full of magic.”
The urge to kiss the purple-haired witch struck her then, nearly overwhelming in its insistence.
Instead, Sparrow took Fern’s hand once more and led the way back to her adorable purple cottage.
They were halfway there when she caught the whisper of a giggle on the wind and remembered that her sister and the familiar had been following them.
Suddenly sobered by that thought, Sparrow picked up her pace.
They arrived at Fern’s house in a dead sprint, laughing as they tried to catch their breath.
She had doubled over, her hands on her knees as she glanced behind them to see if Lark and Bramble had managed to keep up.
No sign of the pair of troublemakers appeared down the street and Sparrow counted it as a victory.
“Would you like to join me again tomorrow, Fern Appleton?” she asked softly when she regained her usual heart rate.
“Very much so,” whispered Fern into the space between them, those hazel eyes glazed with sleepiness. “Goodnight, Sparrow.”
“Goodnight, little witch,” she replied.
Just before she turned to head home, the purple-haired witch pushed up onto her tiptoes and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to her cheek.
Fern’s lips came away with hints of orange eyeshadow and white stars, proof that the kiss had really happened.
Then her pretty little witch disappeared into her cottage, the door thumping loudly as she likely collapsed against it.